


Careless

by PaintingWithDarkness



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon), Young Justice - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Bluepulse, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Sorry, M/M, Speedbuggy, You Have Been Warned, also medical descriptions, it's sad, there's a lot of medical terminology in this, try not to cry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2020-12-28 20:16:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21142583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaintingWithDarkness/pseuds/PaintingWithDarkness
Summary: No matter what, Jaime will always stick by Bart's side.





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bluepulsebluepulse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluepulsebluepulse/gifts).

> This fic is really sad. I'm sorry. I haven't posted a bluepulse fic in awhile, and needed to write something. Hopefully it's not too depressing.

Jaime hates that Bart is so fucking fast. It makes it nearly impossible to stop him once he has his mind set on something. By the time Jaime’s actually able to comprehend what it is that Bart has in mind and begins to make a move to prevent him from doing something stupid, Bart will have already done it. Whoever had come up with the name “Impulse” for Bart’s first alias was right on the money. He always does things first and thinks about the consequences later.

In battle, Bart’s impulsiveness is both a blessing and a curse. Sometimes he ends up saving Jaime’s ass, and adds a point to the never-ending score Khaji Da keeps, known as “Favors Jaime Reyes Owes the Kid Flash for Saving his Sorry Gluteus Maximus”. Other times, Bart’s habit to act before thinking leads to consequences such as allowing the villain to get away, or accidentally turning a covert mission into an obvious one.

In the end though, the real reason that Bart’s speed and impulsiveness really bother him is because Bart usually ends up a victim of his own poorly thought out decisions.

* * *

“ _ Bart! _ ” Jaime screams. 

_ Idiota. Imbécil. Tonto. _ If Bart makes it out this alive, Jaime’s going to kill him.    
  


“Why!?” Jaime demands. He knows in hindsight that he shouldn’t be shaking Bart, especially when he’s hurt this badly, but he’s too hysterical for rational thought at the moment. “¿Por qué? ¡Eso fue tan estúpida! ¡Podrías haber muerto! I have armor, Cariño! You don’t! I don’t need you to… No necesitas protegerme.” There are tears streaming down his cheeks. He gently cradles Bart to his chest, stroking the auburn hair on the back of his head.

“Did-” Bart coughs, struggling to get the words out. “Didn’t want you to… get hurt.” He’s panting, gasping every few syllables.

Jaime laughs through the tears. “I wasn’t going to get hurt,  _ Tonto _ ! There’s a difference between me taking a hit and you taking a hit. You’re a speedster. The point is to  _ not _ get hit. Fue realmente estúpido of you to jump in front of me like that. What do you think I’m going to do if you die!?” He pulls Bart up closer so that he can lay a desperate kiss on the younger boy’s lips. 

Bart laughs breathily, sending himself into another coughing fit. “Worth it,” he gasps out.

“Not to me!” Jaime shouts, shaking Bart again. “¿¡Tienes alguna idea que cuanto te amo!? Seriamente un desastre sin ti.” 

He kisses the speedster again, but when he pulls away, Bart’s head flops to the side and his eyes slide closed. 

“Bart?” Jaime gives the russet-haired boy a small couple slaps to the cheek, but he doesn’t respond. “Bart!?” 

He pulls away from his boyfriend, and it’s only now that he can see the speedster’s chest is no longer moving. “ _ Bart?! _ ” 

Jaime’s panicking. He can’t lose Bart. He and the boy from the future have gone through too much together. Bart can’t die. 

“He’s not breathing!” Jaime screams. His voice is shrill, about three octaves above his normal vocal range. He’s too worked up to think through all of the medical training he’s had. All he’s capable of at the moment is clutching Bart to his chest and screaming.

In seconds, Tim is by his side, trying to calm him down and get him to release Bart so that he can get a look. The battle’s still raging behind them, but everyone had seen the blow Bart had taken and are fighting with renewed vigor. Jaime’s still armored up from the neck down, and Khaji Da is issuing death threats in the back of his head, which is really not helping. 

“He’s not breathing,” Jaime sobs. “He’s not breathing!” 

Tim grabs him by the shoulders. “I know, Jaime. If we want to help him, you need to let go so I can see.” He meets Jaime’s eyes through the domino mask, forcing Jaime to obey the command. 

Reluctantly, he allows Tim to take a hold of Bart and lay the unconscious speedster down on the concrete. Tim takes a quick pulse, using two fingers at the side of Bart’s neck and Jaime silently prays that his boyfriend’s heart is still beating.

“He has a pulse,” Tim reports, “but he won’t for long without oxygen. Do you know CPR?” he asks.

Jaime nods. He’d learned CPR even before the blue, beetle-shaped AI had attached itself to his spine. 

“Start rescue breathing,” Tim instructs, “I’m going to call 911.” He pulls out a cellphone, from where Jaime has no idea, but right now he’s too grateful to care. As the third Robin dials the three-digit number, Jaime racks his brain for the correct CPR rules. 

[ **Give the Kid Flash one breath every five seconds.** ] Khaji Da instructs inside his head. [ **This equates to an average of twelve breaths per minute. Check for a pulse every two minutes.** ]

“Okay,” Jaime tries to give himself a pep talk despite the amount of panic he’s currently feeling. “You can do this. You have to save Bart.” 

He carefully leans over the smaller teen, gently tilting the speedster’s head back with both hands to open Bart’s airway. Then Jaime’s lips go to Bart’s scarily-much-colder-ones and he tries to force a breath into his boyfriend’s lifeless body. When the first breath doesn’t go in, he feels his panic level increase tenfold, but tries again, readjusting the tilt of Bart’s head before replacing his lips. When the second doesn’t go in, Jaime feels hysteria begin to creep up on him, and he knows that if Khaji hadn’t removed the face-plate of his armor, he would have drowned in his own tears by now.

“¡No es trabajando!” he sobs. Jaime knows he’s doing it right, so why isn’t it working?

“Please, Cariño,” he begs. “No mueras. Por favor no mueras. Te amo demasiado para que mueras.” 

Tim returns with the phone pressed to his ear. He covers the receiver with a gloved hand before talking to Jaime. 

“Why aren’t you doing CPR? Did you do the rescue breaths? The operator says she dispatched an ambulance. They’re about fifteen minutes out. Jaime,” Tim places the phone between his shoulder and jaw, reaching out to shake the Hispanic teen. 

Jaime’s gone catatonic. He can’t lose Bart. They’re supposed to have a future together. Bart’s supposed to move in with him in two months when he finishes high school and then they’ll be at college together; Jaime continuing towards his pre-med B.S. and Bart starting his own path towards a degree in physics. They’ve been dating for a little over two years now, and Jaime figures asking Bart to move in with him is a plausible next step. Barry and Iris have children of their own to take care of, and Jaime’s more than willing to take his needy boyfriend off their backs. He can afford it. His college is completely paid for by the generous scholarship he had received from Bruce Wayne (wonder why that would be?) and the nice check he gets for being a part of the Young Justice team each month is plenty to cover his rent and the cost of utilities, as well as groceries for his apartment. Having Bart around won’t pose any problems. Tim’s already assured him that Mr. Wayne plans on granting scholarships to all of the Team members, should they so choose to pursue a college education, and they’ll continue getting checks from the League, so long as they remain a part of the team.

“JAIME!” The volume of Tim’s voice shocks him out of it. The red and black clad teen is doing chest compressions, palms rapidly pressing down against Bart’s sternum, over and over again. The sight makes Jaime want to vomit. 

“He’ll do better if he gets some oxygen,” Tim grunts out, continuing with the compressions. “Did you try the rescue breathing?” 

“It… didn’t work.” Jaime’s voice is wrecked; the effect of trying to speak around the huge ball of cotton seemingly lodged in his throat, trying not to sob, and keeping a level enough head to actually do something to help his boyfriend, rather than just watching the speedster slowly slip away. 

“Try again,” Robin demands. “Even if they don’t go in, keep trying. We have to keep his heart going until the ambulance gets here.”

Jaime can feel the numbness creeping up his spine (and he knows it’s not Khaji Da this time), but does as Tim directs, tears continuing to stream down his face. The salty droplets gently roll off his chin and softly plop down onto Bart’s cheeks as he reconnects their mouths- Bart’s lips are so cold- and tries to breathe life into his boyfriend who is slipping further away with each passing second. He can’t get any air into the speedster, but he continues to try, his frame wracking with pent up sobs, his exhales shaky and wet as they pass through his lips and into Bart’s. 

It seems like an eternity passes before he finally hears the tell-tale wail of sirens and quickly sends up a prayer of thanks to whoever’s willing to listen. Six minutes pass, the scarab informs him, from the time the ambulance stops on the scene and when Bart is finally strapped to the stretcher. Jaime can’t discern any of the information Tim relays to the EMTs over the ringing in his ears, and the movement; the rushing of bodies all around him is too much to take in. The only thing he’s able to catch is through the chaotic din is the word ‘family’. 

“I’m his boyfriend!” manages to escape his lips before Jaime’s even aware that he’s saying anything. The voice doesn’t belong to him. It’s laced with panic, several octaves too high, and almost so weak, wrecked, that it’s drowned out by the sirens still blaring on the roof of the ambulance. 

He gets a sympathetic look from one of the paramedics. “Sorry, kid. Not enough room back here,” the white-clad woman says, climbing into the back of the vehicle behind the gurney, “and it’s family only. ‘Boyfriend’ doesn’t cut it. We’re going to Smallville Med Center. You can follow up and see him when he gets out of surgery.” With that, the EMT slams the bay doors closed and the ambulance speeds off, lights fading as it rounds a corner, its drawn out wail echoing off the buildings it passes in between.

All Jaime feels now is numbness. Bart needs surgery. Bart needs surgery? Bart wasn’t breathing.  _ Bart wasn’t breathing.  _ His heart- it had been beating, right? Bart’s heart had been beating? Is he going to be okay? He has to be. Bart has to be okay.  _ He has to be okay. _

[ **Jaime Reyes, you are hyperventilating.** ]

There’s a hand on his shoulder. “Jaime, you need to calm down.” 

[ **Heart rate elevated. You are experiencing a panic attack, Jaime Reyes. Suggested tactic-** ] 

The armor flows rapidly over his face, the black plate sliding into place, and he registers the sound of the boosters kicking on before his stomach drops out from underneath him. He vomits, and the tiny part of his brain that’s not ensconced in panic-worry-fear thinks that he’s sorry for anyone below that might have been splashed, but the rest is concerned with Bart. All that matters is getting to Bart; making sure he’s okay. 

The flight is a blur. One minute he’s up in the air, soaring over buildings and crowded streets and the next, he’s sobbing to the poor hospital receptionist, asking about Bart. Is he okay? Is he in surgery yet? When will it be over? When can Jaime see him? But the receptionist only tells him that she can’t disclose patient information and asks if there are any family members she can contact.

“Barry and Iris Allen,” Jaime says rapidly. 

Once the receptionist types the names into her computer with her annoyingly neon green-tipped fingers, she gestures to the sitting area of the waiting room and tells Jaime to sit, and that there will be news soon. But Jaime’s too anxious to sit. He agitatedly paces between two rows of seats, one hand tangled in his short-cropped black hair, and jumbles of muted Spanish leaving his lips. 

“¿Quien te tiene tan inquieto, Niño?” 

Jaime’s tear-stained face immediately snaps up, his eyes widening. He hadn’t realized someone was listening in on his grief-filled mumblings.

He quickly scans the rows he’s been walking up and down and finally notices a woman that he must have brushed past about twenty times by now. She kindly reaches her hand out to him when they make eye-contact, and Jaime can feel himself blushing in embarrassment, despite the amount of worry and fear he’s feeling for Bart. The woman pats the seat next to her and Jaime obediently takes it, sniffling a bit and wiping at his eyes so that he can see her a little more clearly. 

She’s very well built; Amazonian, comparable to Wonder Girl’s physique, with well-defined muscles bulging at her biceps. Her blonde hair is twisted up into a tight bun at the back of her head, steel-blue eyes kind, but their depths and the worry lines around them betray that she has seen a lot more trauma than the average person. The green and tan army fatigues and silver dog-tags hanging around her neck also testify to this conclusion. She is Caucasian, but obviously well-versed in Spanish if she could understand Jaime’s past ramblings. 

“Sorry,” Jaime sniffs, trying to stop crying. It’s an exercise that seems to be in futility however, because the tears continue to fall, no matter how many he swipes away. 

“It’s alright to be upset. Whoever you’re here for must be in some real dire straits.” The woman puts a comforting hand on his back, but Jaime immediately tenses up because her palm is right over the scarab where it is hidden away beneath the baggy hood of his jacket. 

Usually the hood is good for obscuring the presence of the beetle from a distance when Jaime is in his civilian persona, and he doesn’t have problems passing himself off as a normal teenager/young adult from El Paso. The only people who know the scarab is there are the members of the Justice League, the Team, Tye and his small gaggle of runaways and his family. And even then, the only people he’s actually comfortable with touching the scarab are his parents, sister, and Bart. 

His gaze flits over to the woman next to him, and he can see the skepticism in her steely orbs, but she hasn’t removed her hand from his back, which is  _ really  _ not helping his already shot nerves. It’s taking all of what he has left of his willpower to hold Khaji Da back from blasting her with the plasma cannon, because  _ the bug really does not appreciate being touched  _ and now Jaime has to give this woman an explanation for why there’s a bulge sitting between his shoulder blades that shouldn’t be there.

She raises a single ice-blonde eyebrow at him and Jaime gulps. He can’t come up with a plausible lie this fast. His mind is consumed with worry for Bart and his mental capabilities are not at their peak because of it. This woman  _ is _ in the army however, and Jaime should be able to trust her with his secret, given that the League and Team sometimes have to work side-by-side with the military on certain missions.

“Don’t freak out,” Jaime says, because he doesn’t have the time or patience for her to go crazy on him, nor does he have the energy to explain using words. Silently, he wills the blue and black armor to slide down his left arm, which is closest to the woman, until his hand is encased in the gleaming lapis carapace. 

There is instant understanding written on the woman’s face. She carefully moves her hand a few inches downward so that it rests on the middle of Jaime’s back and he is immediately grateful. He’s relieved that she’s no longer touching the touchy scarab and that Khaji Da has ceased his death threats. He also appreciates that she hasn’t removed her hand from him entirely, because he can definitely use the comfort. 

“Mi novio,” Jaime says, as the armor recedes again beneath his sleeve. “We were on a mission. He got hurt really badly.” And dammit, the tears are back. 

The woman gives him a sad smile. “I understand where you’re coming from. My husband and I served on the frontlines. He was shot in the arm. Every once in awhile, it acts up. He’s having it looked at now.” The woman sighs before continuing. “I won’t lie and tell you it gets easier. Being in an active duty role where danger is a constant, you’re bound to get banged up at some point. I was always worried about my husband when we were on the battlefield. But your boyfriend is a lucky guy to have someone who cares about him as much as you do to help him through this. It’s not an easy recovery on your own.” 

Jaime sniffs once before using the green sleeve of his hoodie to wipe away the tears streaming down his cheeks. “Gracias,” he says to the woman.

“De nada, kid,” she replies, smoothing her hand down his back one last time. 

“Thank you for your service,” Jaime adds, realizing that he hasn’t said that yet. His parents had raised him to be polite, and being a superhero himself, Jaime knows how important it is to get a thanks for your work. 

The woman chuckles. “And thank you for your service as well, Blue Beetle.” She whispers his hero alias and gives him a wink. 

Jaime feels himself blush. It’s not too often that he gets thanked for the work he does as Blue Beetle. After the whole Reach fiasco, it’s taken him some time to rebuild a good rapport with the public. Despite the fact that the League had clarified the situation and it had been stated that Jaime is not to be held responsible for his actions while on mode, a lot of people are still wary of him. When he does get a thanks for saving someone, it really goes straight to his heart and makes him happy for once that he was the one who had been skating through the Kord Industries parking lot that night. 

Jaime and the woman sit in companionable silence for awhile until a nurse enters the room. 

“Mrs. Jackson? Your husband is done with his examination now, if you would like to see him.” 

The woman stands. She gives Jaime one last pat on the shoulder. “I’ll keep your boyfriend in my prayers. And when he recovers, thank him for me. It’s people like you and him that  _ really _ keep the world safe. The military pales in comparison.”

Jaime nods. “Thank you. I will.” 

With one last smile in his direction, Mrs. Jackson follows the nurse out of the room and Jaime is left to his own worried musings once again. He doesn’t want to cry, considering he’s just stopped, but it’s hard to think of anything besides Bart when his subconscious mind knows that Bart is somewhere behind the doors Mrs. Jackson and the nurse have just disappeared behind, likely being cut into by surgeons in an attempt to save his life.

Of all the times Khaji Da does butt in, this time Jaime’s grateful. [ **According to scans taken of the Bart Allen at the scene of the accident, it appears he has suffered a pneumothorax, which is likely the cause of his apnea. This can be remedied with the placement of a chest tube and steady supply of oxygen.** ]

‘ _ He probably has a few broken ribs too, _ ’ Jaime adds to the conversation the scarab has started. It doesn’t do much to distract Jaime from his worry, but it does help his panic some to focus on the factual parts of the situation rather than the emotional.

[ **Affirmative.** ] Khaji Da continues, having enough sense to see that he’s helping to distract his host enough that Jaime is no longer on the brink of a breakdown. [ **Head trauma also indicates a concussion.** ]

‘ _ Unfortunately, _ ’ Jaime thinks, ‘ _ the concussion is probably the least of his worries. We can’t know for sure the total damage until the doctor tells us, but the next time we see Bizzaro, I give you permission to use the sonic cannon on the highest frequency. _ ’

Going off of the high-pitched beep Khaji gives back, Jaime knows the scarab agrees with him. Whether it’s because Khaji Da is actually concerned about Bart’s well-being, or because he just has a strong affinity for violence, is a mystery however. Regardless, both he and Khaji are royally pissed off at the imperfect Superman clone.

M’gann had assigned the team (Tim, Cassie, Gar, Virgil, Bart and Jaime) on a mission in Smallville to fill in for Superman since he is off-world, infiltrating and doing some recon on a Lexcorp building that tly been erected in the Big Blue Boyscout’s home city. As always, the mission had been covert. 

Surprisingly, things had been going smoothly, as least until they’d run into the bad, bald, bigot himself. Immediately, Lex Luthor had sent for his guards, and with them had come the Superman monstrosity. Apparently Lex had zapped Superman with a duplicating ray the last time they’d tangled and Big Blue had been unaware. Neither Superman or M’gann had known Bizzaro would be an issue when they’d assigned the team to the mission. 

Wonder Girl, Beast Boy, and Static had immediately gone after the big superpowered idiot while Robin, Kid Flash and Blue Beetle had focused on the guards. Jaime had been doing a pretty decent job, taking out quite a few of the hit men and keeping an eye on things from the air. He’d been watching Tim knock out the gunned men with his bo staff and his boyfriend send them flying after smashing into them at full speed. They’d managed to subdue all of the guards before their other teammates had finished with Bizzaro, so Bart and Tim had joined their fight. Jaime, on the other hand, had caught Lex Luthor trying to flee the scene out of the corner of his eye and had taken off after him. It was when he had paused to take aim at the bald autocrat with the staple gun that all hell had broken loose. 

“ _ Blue! _ ” Jaime had heard Bart scream. 

But he had been too slow in turning. By the time he’d gotten his body around enough that he could see behind him, Bizzaro’s huge, meaty fist had already made contact with Bart’s chest and sent the speedster flying. Bart had jumped in front of him!

Jaime had watched in horror as Bart’s yellow and red clad body arced through the air, about a good twenty yards or so, before landing and sliding across the concrete floor. At first contact, Bart’s head had hit the cement with a sickening crack, and his body had bounced up before hitting the ground again. At second contact, Bart had skidded an additional five feet from the sixty he had flown, his uniform tearing and leaving him with nasty red road-rash along his back and left side. 

“ _ Bart! _ ” Jaime’d screamed. He couldn’t have cared less about aliases in that moment. His boyfriend had been hurt, and it was all his fault. 

The sound of a door bursting open somewhere behind him startles Jaime out of his reverie. A blond-haired man, appearing to be in his mid forties rushes into the emergency room and up to the receptionist’s desk. 

“Bart Allen,” he demands, and it’s only then that Jaime realizes who it is. Jaime jumps up form his chair and joins Barry at the counter. 

“My grandson,” Barry continues to talk. He acknowledges Jaime and makes some room for him to stand beside him so that they both can see the receptionist. Her eyes widen slightly upon seeing Jaime again, but she doesn’t comment on his reappearance. 

“I’m sorry, Sir,” she says, and pops a bubble of gum uncaringly, giving Jaime another reason to dislike her in addition to the annoyingly colored nails. “There hasn’t been any news yet. We’ll let you know as soon as he’s out of surgery. For now, can you please have a seat in the waiting room?” She gestures vaguely in the direction Jaime had just come from. 

With a sigh, Barry turns on his heel and motions for Jaime to follow him back to the waiting area. When they get there, Jaime plops down in his abandoned seat and Barry takes the one beside him. It is the same one that Mrs. Jackson had been sitting in. 

“What happened?” Barry asks. He turns to Jaime, blue eyes boring into him. 

Jaime can’t stand to look at his boyfriend’s grandfather. He turns his head downward so that he’s staring at his knees and begins rehashing the story, explaining the mission and how everything had gone wrong when Bart had jumped in front of him.

By the time he’s done retelling the story, there are tears running down his cheeks. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, and whether it’s to Barry or Bart, Jaime’s unsure. 

“I’m sorry.” It comes out a sob this time, and his shoulders are shaking. He doesn’t want to start crying again, but this time it’s the guilt rather than his worry over his boyfriend that gets him. It’s his fault that Bart had gotten hit. If he’d been paying attention, Bart wouldn’t be in surgery right now. 

Barry puts a comforting hand on his shoulder. “It’s not your fault, Jaime. Bart knew what he was doing when he jumped in front of you. If your positions had been switched, both of us know you would have done the same for him. That’s what loving someone means: being willing to risk your own life for that person. And I know that you two love each other. I’m happy that my grandson is with someone who cares about him this much. I’m glad that Bart chose you, Jaime.” 

Jaime raises a hand to swipe away some of the tears. “It still should have been me,” he whispers. “He wasn’t breathing, Barry. We were doing CPR when the ambulance came. He-he c-could die!” And he can’t get another word out because he’s sobbing so hard. 

“I’m scared, too,” Barry says. “The hospital said Bart was in critical condition when they called. I got here as soon as I could.”

“S-scarab s-says Bart has a con-concussion. A-and broken r-ribs,” Jaime manages to hiccup. “A pne-pne-mo-mo-” and he can’t get the damn word out because he’s crying too hard. He buries his tear-soaked face in his hands, and he can still feel Barry’s hand on his trembling shoulder. He needs Bart to be okay. They both do.

“Mr. Allen?” 

It’s been a couple of hours since Barry showed up, which means it’s been even longer for Jaime. When the nurse calls for Bart’s grandfather, Jaime’s head snaps up and he immediately scrambles out of his chair. He fights the urge to run towards the woman dressed in scrubs, but he must appear pretty desperate, given the pitying look the nurse is giving him. She waits until Barry meets them at the door and then shoots a quick glance between the older man and Jaime. 

“I’m sorry, but only family members can see him right now,” she says, trying to sound sympathetic for Jaime’s sake. 

“Jaime is Bart’s boyfriend,” Barry says. “They live together.” And it’s a lie, but it seems to be enough for the nurse, because she leads both Barry and Jaime into the hallway. 

Jaime wonders for a moment what it is about Barry’s explanation that had changed the nurse’s mind, before he recalls something he’d overheard his mother say. Being a nurse herself, Jaime’s mother knows hospital regulations, and he can remember a few years back, when gay marriage had first been legalized, his mother mentioning something about hospitals changing visiting regulations so that domestic partners could have the same rights as spouses. Beforehand, a lot of hospitals had been more strict regarding unmarried couples, therefore a lot of gay and lesbian visitors had had a difficult time seeing their partners in the hospital. Since Bart and Jaime aren’t married, Barry needed to make Jaime seem like Bart’s domestic partner in order to gain him familial visiting rights. 

After following a few twists and turns down various hallways, the nurse stops in front of a door with a plastic covered sign on it. The red paper contained within the sleeve reads: CCU-19. Critical Care Unit, room nineteen, Jaime comprehends. 

“Dr. Roberts will be by soon to talk to you about Bart’s condition,” the nurse says. “For now, he’s allowed two visitors at a time. Family only. Visiting hours will end at nine.” 

[ **That leaves us with two hours and twelve minutes with the Kid Flash.** ] Khaji Da supplies. 

The nurse turns and opens the door to Bart’s room, allowing Jaime and Barry to slip inside before closing it behind them. The moment Jaime lays eyes on his boyfriend, a gasp escapes his lips. Bart looks absolutely tiny under all of the medical equipment surrounding him. 

Hesitantly, Jaime takes a step forward on shaky legs to take in more of the scene. There is an IV pole standing to one side of the hospital bed and a heart monitor standing to the other. A large, bluish-clear tube is jutting from Bart’s mouth, leading to a square machine sitting beside the heart monitor. Jaime watches as the machine emits a small burst of air into the tubing, rattling it a bit, and Bart’s chest expands. Then, after a few seconds, the tubing fogs up inside and the air returns to the machine as Bart’s chest contracts. A blue line on the heart monitor appears to match the pace of the square machine, peaking softly as the air flows into Bart, and declining again as the air rushes out. He’s on a ventilator, Jaime remembers it’s called. There’s also a slightly smaller tube feeding into one of Bart’s nostrils, filled with a thick banana-colored substance. When he follows that tube up, Jaime can see that it leads to one of the bags hanging from the IV pole. Both the smaller tube and the ventilation tube are held in place with strips of white medical tape across the bridge of Bart’s nose and around his chin. 

The crisp sheets of the bed are only pulled up to Bart’s waist, exposing the flowing hospital gown only partially buttoned around his shoulders and upper arms. The sides of the gown, despite having buttons, are left undone, likely so that whoever is tasked with changing the bandages around Bart’s chest has easier access to them. Peaking out from the bandages on either side of Bart’s chest are two identical tubes, each of which have a clear bulb at the end. Each of the bulbs has a small amount of pinkish fluid in them, and Jaime assumes that they must be draining liquid from Bart’s chest. 

[ **Excess fluid build-up can cause a repeat pneumothorax.** ] Khaji Da says. [ **The Bart Allen is dependent on the respirator until the fluid is drained from his chest cavity and he can breathe on his own.** ] Plus, Jaime guesses, it’s probably hard and painful for Bart to breathe on his own with his broken ribs.

Poking out of the collar of Bart’s hospital gown are a few differently colored leads, each of which is plugged into a port on the heart monitor. Jaime knows that if he looks, he will find all of the matching electrodes taped to Bart’s chest in the spaces not already occupied by the bandaging. 

Jaime can feel his legs shaking. He knows he won’t be able to support his own weight much longer. Bart just looks so… broken. It’s hard to take in all at once. 

Gently, Barry guides him over to a chair that’s been set up by the bedside. Jaime hadn’t noticed it being there before, but is grateful if it means he won’t do a faceplant into the linoleum beneath his feet. 

Once he’s seated, Jaime takes Bart’s hand in his own, lacing their fingers together. He notices idly that there is an inhibitor bracelet around Bart’s wrist. And then it seems to sink in.  _ Why _ is there an inhibitor device around his boyfriend’s wrist? Bart should not be wearing an inhibitor bracelet. 

He and Khaji seem to be in agreement with this fact, when the blue and black armor flows down over his arm and hand. He’s just about to reach for the device to override the programming and shut it down when Barry grabs his wrist, preventing him from doing so. 

“He needs it to heal properly,” the older man says, and it’s only now that Jaime really looks at him since they’ve entered the room. Barry looks completely worn down. It’s clear that he’s as scared for Bart as Jaime is. He’s likely been holding it together for Jaime’s sake, but Barry looks like he wants to cry just as much as Jaime does. 

“As a speedster, Bart does have accelerated healing, just like I do, but if the doctors gave him any stitches, or if he has internal bleeding, and the tubes don’t have time to drain it away before his body closes everything up, he might unintentionally make things worse for himself. The inhibitor bracelet is there to make sure he heals completely.” Barry gives him a wobbly smile. “Same procedure for me when I get injured badly enough for the hospital.”

Khaji Da definitely isn’t happy about it, and Jaime still has his own reservations about the situation, but they ultimately decide to trust Barry and leave the bracelet alone. Jaime gives Bart’s limp hand a squeeze, and then watches as Barry drags another chair to the other side of Bart’s bed. Once the older speedster sits down, he takes Bart’s other hand into his own. Jaime notices four separate IV needles poking out of the dorsal side of Bart’s hand, as well as the white hospital ID bracelet around his wrist. Jaime and Barry make eye contact.

“It probably looks worse than it is,” Barry says, trying to be reassuring, but his tone betrays his true emotions. 

Jaime attempts a smile, but ultimately gives up halfway through when it starts to feel like more of a grimace. “Y-yeah,” he eventually says, and his voice is raw. The ball of cotton is back, lodged in his throat. Jaime can feel his eyes watering, and he blinks rapidly in an attempt to rid himself both of the obstruction in his throat and the traitorous tears at the corners of his eyes. He squeezes Bart’s hand again, bringing it up to his mouth to lay a kiss across the back. 

“I’m sorry,” escapes his throat. “I’m so sorry.” The tears silently slide down his cheeks. “Lo siento. I’m sorry.” Jaime can’t find the power to stop apologizing. It’s his fault that Bart is in this condition. If he’d of taken Bizzaro’s hit, neither of them would be in the hospital. Instead, Bart had been the impulsive, self-sacrificing idiot that Jaime loves, and is now suffering for it. 

Silently, Jaime brings his head down to rest against the edge of the mattress of Bart’s bed and begins praying. It’s not something he does often, despite coming from a Catholic family. Jaime isn’t even really sure if he believes in God, but if there does happen to be one, he figures it can’t hurt to have the big guy on Bart’s side. Jaime doesn’t know how bad Bart’s condition is yet, but judging from all of the medical equipment surrounding him, it’s not very good. Bart needs all of the help he can get, and if that means praying for a miracle, Jaime’s going to do it. 

After a solid twenty minutes of whispering under his breath, a knock on the door startles Jaime into looking back up. A man in a white lab coat and green scrubs is pushing the door to Bart’s room open, rubbing his hands together. Jaime can smell the disinfectant wafting through the room. 

“I’m Dr. Roberts,” the man introduces himself, once the door closes behind him. “I’m in charge of Bart’s care.” He holds out a hand to Barry, who blinks in slight confusion before taking it. He then moves over to Jaime’s side of the bed. Jaime looks between the doctor’s hand and his own right hand, which is still twined with Bart’s. He doesn’t want to let go. 

It takes a few seconds, but eventually the doctor seems to get it, and drops his hand back to his side. He turns back to Barry. “You are Bart’s grandfather, correct?” 

Barry nods his head in response. “Barry,” he says. “My wife Iris and I are Bart’s current guardians.” A slight frown comes over his face as he says it. Jaime knows exactly what he’s thinking. Jay and Joan had looked after Bart until they’d passed away. The Garricks’ deaths had been hard on the entire Flash family. Jaime had already attended three funerals for members of the Flash family since he had started superheroing. He can only imagine how Barry feels. 

Dr. Roberts nods, oblivious to the heavy feelings now permeating the room. “I take it your wife will come to see Bart during his stay?” 

Barry nods. “We were told Bart is only allowed two visiters at a time.” 

Dr. Roberts gives them a sympathetic smile. “Unfortunately because of the severity of Bart’s current condition, that is correct.”

Jaime feels his heart pang. The doctor using the word ‘severe’ to describe his boyfriend’s condition isn’t comforting at all. 

“H-how bad is it?” Jaime struggles to get the sentence out. It had already been hard enough walking into the room to see Bart buried underneath so many pounds of medical equipment. Jaime doesn’t know if he’s strong enough to actually hear the diagnosis. 

Dr. Roberts takes a step closer to Jaime, and lays a hand on his shoulder. It immediately causes Jaime to tense up. He really doesn’t want anyone touching him right now. He doesn’t have the strength to deal with it. He’s emotionally and mentally drained, and all he wants to hear is that Bart will be alright. 

“You’re the boyfriend?” Dr. Roberts asks. 

“Yes,” Jaime sighs. “We live together.” And he really wishes it were the truth, rather than a lie constructed by Barry to gain him visitation rights. He and Bart were supposed to be moving in together soon. They were supposed to be making plans, talking about their futures, and aspirations. Instead, he’s sitting here by Bart’s bedside, wondering if he’ll recover from this. 

Dr. Roberts gives a hum. “How long have you two been together?” 

Luckily Barry cuts in before Jaime has to give an explanation. He’ll have to thank Bart’s grandfather for all of his favors once this is all over. 

“I don’t see how that’s pertinent,” the older Flash says. “Could you tell us about my grandson’s condition?” 

Dr. Roberts blinks, and then seems to recover, a wide, fake, toothy grin appearing on his lips. “I apologize.” He walks over to the head of Bart’s medical bed and gives the frail speedster a quick one-over before looking down at his chart. 

“Bart’s suffered both severe trauma to his head and to his chest. My surgical team counted eight broken ribs and six fractures. Due to the strain the breakages placed on Bart’s lungs, I’m afraid he also experienced a double pneumothorax.” 

Jaime nearly chokes. That’s exactly what he and Khaji Da had suspected. 

“We inserted a chest tube on either side of Bart’s chest to help drain the fluid which we suspected caused the problem. Bart has been placed on the ventilator to help reduce the amount of strain on his lungs, while his ribs are healing.” 

Jaime squeezes his boyfriend’s hand. “H-how long do you think that will take?” 

Dr. Roberts deliberates for a moment. “About six to eight weeks, however, Bart can do some of that healing at home. The main concern would be getting him to a point where he is no longer reliant on the ventilator to breathe for him.” 

Jaime watches Barry for a reaction. The older man looks ashen, and Jaime can see the toll the torrent of emotions they’re both experiencing has taken on him. Barry’s blue eyes are dull, and his posture is sagging. He looks as though he could quite literally sink into his chair. 

“So you suspect Bart will have to stay here for six weeks?” 

Dr. Roberts shakes his head. “Unfortunately, it will probably be much longer. The trauma Bart experienced wasn’t limited to just his chest. My surgical team also had to remove his spleen due to a rupture, and signs of severe internal bruising were evident. As for his head, the impact of Bart’s skull with the cement caused a hematoma to appear on his occipital lobe. We’re currently monitoring him for any further signs of bleeding and bruising. Eight stitches were needed to close the wound on the back of his head.” 

Tears spring to Jaime’s eyes. Bart’s condition is actually a lot worse than he had suspected. He and Khaji Da had predicted a concussion. Bart’s brain is  _ bleeding _ . Dr. Roberts says it’s not a huge concern, but that’s the thing that scares Jaime the most. What if the bleeding does spread? What will happen to Bart then? How can Jaime live with himself if something does happen? 

A sob breaks loose from his throat. Jaime really does not want to have another breakdown. Not here in front of Bart’s grandfather and doctor. He has to stay strong. 

“How will the bleeding affect his recovery?” Jaime’s voice is choked up, and it sounds nothing like him, but he’s able to get the words out. 

The doctor gives him a sad smile. “Unfortunately, everyone is different. With Bart’s accelerated metabolism, he could probably heal in a few days. The only concern is that he’s faced so much blunt trauma, we’re not sure his body would be able to handle healing at such a rapid rate. It would take a tremendous amount of energy, which Bart would not have enough of. He would likely die of a heart attack, which is why we’re using an inhibitor bracelet. Under normal circumstances, a person with Bart’s extensive injuries would take about three to four months to heal. It really depends on Bart. How fast he can get off the ventilator and whether or not he suffers any additional effects from his head injury will determine his recovery time.” Roberts sets the chart down on a table by Bart’s bedside. Slowly, he makes his way back around the bed to stand next to Jaime. 

“We’ll do everything we can to keep him comfortable while he’s here.” 

Another sob breaks past Jaime’s lips. This time he can’t stop it. The tears tumble down Jaime’s cheeks and gut-wrenching cries tear themselves from his throat. Bart means everything to him. Having to hear that the doctors are going to ‘keep him comfortable’ isn’t a reassurance. It only tells Jaime that Bart’s likely in a tremendous amount of pain. 

“Bart is being given morphine to manage his pain, and a sedative to keep him relaxed, and prevent him from aggravating his wounds with extra movement.” Dr. Roberts continues awkwardly. “Over time, we should be able to reduce the dosages as Bart feels better.” 

Jaime shakes his head, burying it against the edge of Bart’s mattress. This is all too much. Bart doesn’t deserve any of this. It should be Jaime laying in that hospital bed. He was the one with the armor. It never should have been a question of who would take the hit. Bart should not be laying here, frail, small, and in pain. He should be awake, and telling Jaime bad puns, holding his hand and kissing him. All Jaime wants now is to be able to kiss him. To tell Bart that everything will be okay. To reassure him. But Jaime can’t even do that. They have Bart sedated; out-cold; oblivious to the world. Jaime doubts Bart would be able to hear him. And the ventilator tube is in the way. Jaime can’t kiss him without interfering with the medical equipment, which at the moment, is playing Bart’s life-support. 

Jaime isn’t sure at which point Dr. Roberts leaves the room. He also isn’t sure how long he can keep crying. Eventually he’ll run out of tears, right? It has to stop at some point. The panging, tugging, stabbing, heart-destroying pains have to stop. Jaime’s pouring out every last emotion he has. When he runs out of tears and feelings, will he shrivel up into nothing, or will he become an empty shell, vulnerable to cracking at the slightest hint of stress? 

“-me.” There’s a noise, just starting to drift through the silence. 

“Jaime.” He can feel it now too. 

“Jaime, it’s time to go.” The hand jostling his shoulder and the voice cutting into his head win out. 

Jaime peels his eyes open, squinting against the harsh fluorescent lighting in the room. He had cried himself to sleep. 

Slowly, consciousness and awareness swim back to him. It’s almost enough to start the flood of crying again. His eyes quickly land on Bart, and a whimper escapes his throat. 

The hand on his shoulder squeezes, and when Jaime looks over, he sees a tired Barry standing next to him. Based off of the redness of his eyes and tip of his nose, Jaime would wager that he did his own share of crying while he was asleep. 

“It’s time to go,” he repeats, stifling a yawn behind his hand. “Visiting hours ended ten minutes ago.” 

Jaime squeezes Bart’s hand. He hadn’t let go of it, even in his sleep. He can’t let go. He needs to be Bart’s lifeline, now more than ever. 

Barry gives him a sympathetic smile. “I know you don’t want to leave. I would stay too, if I could. But you’re going to have to choose between dealing with me, or dealing with the nurse, and I bet I’m a lot nicer.” 

The gentle threat does little to motivate Jaime, but he knows that Barry is right. His mother tells him stories all the time about her own patients and stubborn visitors. Still, he can’t bring himself to leave Bart’s side. He can’t help thinking of all of the things that can happen while he’s gone. He needs to be here. Bart needs him. 

Barry gestures towards the door. When Jaime looks, he sees Bart’s nurse standing outside the window with her arms crossed. He feels slightly bad, being a source of annoyance and stress for this woman, but on the other hand, Bart is substantially more important to him than an angry nurse. 

“C’mon, kiddo,” Barry sighs, “you can stay with Iris and I tonight,” and that’s what ends up breaking him. 

Jaime runs his thumb across the backs of Bart’s knuckles before bringing Bart’s hand up to his mouth to lay a kiss across the back. He stands up and carefully maneuvers around all of his boyfriend’s tubes so that he can kiss Bart’s cheek and temple, too. 

“Te amo,” he whispers near Bart’s ear, and even if he can’t hear him, Jaime knows he needs to say it anyway. 

Reluctantly Jaime lets go of Bart’s hand and moves away from his bedside, wiping tears from his cheeks. As he goes to pass through the door, Barry stops him and wraps him up in a hug. Immediately, Jaime begins bawling. 

Barry’s hand gently smoothes over his back, mindful of the scarab hidden underneath his hoodie. The embrace is nice, if not a little embarrassing. Jaime can’t count the number of times he’s cried tonight. He feels drained. 

“We’ll come back first thing in the morning,” Barry tells him. Jaime nods against his chest. He attempts to catch his breath, sucking in a deep breath before pulling away from the older speedster. Barry gives him a last pat on the shoulder. 

As they walk through the hospital, Jaime tries to take note of all of the turns they take, that way he can find his way back to Bart’s room tomorrow. Visiting hours start at 7:00 am and he wants to be back as soon as possible. He hates the idea of Bart having to stay in a hospital room by himself overnight. He needs company now more than ever and Jaime feels terrible not being able to be there for him. If it weren’t for Barry, Jaime would have said fuck the hospital regulations and a nurse would have had to pry him from his chair before he’d leave Bart. 

When he and Barry get to the car, Jaime climbs into the passenger seat. The drive to the Allen’s house is spent in silence. While they’re on the road, Jaime can’t prevent his thoughts from drifting back to Bart. Every fiber in his body is urging him to armor up and fly back to the hospital. The only thing grounding him is the feeling of the cold glass window of the car against his cheek as he leans up against it and the tiny bumps the tires make as they roll along the blacktop. 

Iris receives them at the front door when they arrive. As soon as she sees Jaime’s expression, she wraps him in her arms. Jaime returns the embrace gratefully. 

“You know where Bart’s room is.” She gives him a smile as they pull away. 

Jaime removes his shoes at the door, lining them up with Barry’s loafers, Iris’ heels, the twins’ tiny light up Sketchers and Bart’s own beat up pair of Vans. After a quick goodnight to Bart’s grandparents, Jaime drags himself up the stairs and locates his boyfriend’s room at the end of the hall. Since moving in with his grandparents, Bart had invited him over several times. Jaime could find his way around the Allens’ house blindfolded. 

He decides to leave the door cracked behind him (like Bart always does) before going over to the dresser. He pulls open the top drawer and rummages around until he finds a yellow Central City High Mathletes tee shirt and a pair of sweatpants. The tee shirt is a little small for him, and clings tightly to his abdomen, but isn’t uncomfortable. It’s a perfect fit on Bart, and Jaime knows that it’s one of his favorites. The sweatpants on the other hand, are a pair his boyfriend stole from him and refuses to return. He’s pretty sure Bart has a few of his shirts and one of his hoodies as well. Not that Jaime minds too much. Bart always manages to look adorable drowning in his too-big clothes. 

Climbing into Bart’s bed is both comforting and agonizing. As usual, it is unmade, with the sheets strewn every which way, and the comforter hanging half off the mattress. After having shared a bed with his boyfriend quite a bit over the years, Jaime knows that he often gets hot during the middle of the night due to his accelerated metabolism and will kick all of the sheets off the bed in his attempts to get cool. It’s both endearing and annoying, as Jaime, who usually does not get hot during the night, then has to pick everything up from the floor and place it back on the bed, so that he can be comfortable too.

As he tucks into the sheets, Jaime inhales and wildflower-scented laundry detergent, strawberry shampoo, amber, and petrichor flood his senses. Everything smells like Bart. 

It hurts not being able to cuddle up next to him as Jaime tries to sleep. Bart loves to curl right up against him whenever they share a bed, and lay his head right on Jaime’s chest as they drift off together. On nights when Bart can’t sleep, he traces light patterns on Jaime’s skin, which make him smile. It hurts not being able to kiss his boyfriend goodnight and wish him sweet dreams, and tell him not to let the bedbugs bite. (Bart always replies back that the only bug allowed to bite him is a particular blue-colored beetle). But most of all, it hurts not being there to soothe away all of Bart’s nightmares, and have him there to do the same. Knowing that Bart is all alone tonight, with only the beeping of his heart monitor and the soft  _ whoosh _ of the ventilator to keep him company. It makes Jaime’s heart ache.

He hugs Bart’s pillow close. It’s not even close to a substitute for the warmth and softness of his boyfriend, but it will have to suffice. As he closes his eyes, Jaime finds himself saying another quick prayer before drifting off. 

‘ _ Please, just let Bart be okay. _ ’ 


	2. Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is actually going to end up being longer than the two chapters I had originally anticipated. I started this piece off as a one shot, but the ideas kept flowing.

When morning comes, Jaime wakes up groggy and devoid of energy. The only thing that motivates him to drag himself from the warm, Bart-scented comforts of his boyfriend’s bed is the fact that Bart is not physically there with him. It’s five in the morning, and Jaime has two hours to get ready before he can see Bart at the hospital. 

He leaves the bed unmade for sentimentality's sake and goes over to the dresser to find some fresh clothes. It takes a little digging, but eventually he comes across one of his own old tee shirts and the red jumper that Bart has stolen from him (the red one has always been Bart’s favorite, and he’s had it for so long now that both of their scents have mingled together in the fabric). His jeans from yesterday will have to make due. He strips off the CCHS Mathletes tee, but pauses before putting on the new one. A shower would probably be a good idea. 

Jaime gathers up both the new set of clothes and his old hoodie and shirt, dumping yesterday’s outfit into the hamper by the door and taking today’s with him to the bathroom across the hall. He runs the water as hot as it will go, and shucks off the sweatpants, climbing into the shower. As the steaming water hits his skin, Jaime lets out a sigh and leans back against the shower wall, letting the stream from the shower head soak him. 

After a few minutes, he reaches for the bottle of shampoo that’s sitting on the shower rack and nearly drops it once he sees the picture on the front. It’s the same strawberry-scented shampoo Bart always uses; the ridiculous tear-free kids version with the smiling strawberry on the front. Jaime has always thought it was funny that Bart likes using the kids’ soap, but Bart argues that it smells better than the adult brands. Also it saves his grandmother extra trips to the store because she can use it for Don and Dawn’s baths as well. Jaime doesn’t mind. He loves the way Bart’s hair smells, and there must be something added in the kids’ shampoo that the manufacturers don’t put in other shampoos because it makes Bart’s hair unbelievably soft. That, or his boyfriend has really amazing genetics. 

A little laugh-cry escapes his throat as Jaime squeezes some of the pink soap into his palm. The shampoo claims to be tear-free, but Jaime’s eyes are clouding over. It’s been less than a day and he already misses Bart immensely. He has no idea how he’s going to survive the three months Bart’s doctor said it will take him to recover. 

He completes the rest of his shower sniffling, and cuts off the water with a shaky breath, grabbing for the fluffy blue towel hanging on the drying rod. It’s the same towel Bart always gives him to borrow when he comes over. Bart’s is the red one hanging beside it. 

Quickly, Jaime towels off and slips into the new tee shirt, his jeans and the hoodie, smiling a little when he imagines what Bart would say. Despite the jacket having originally been his, Bart claims that it is now his property. The first time Jaime had noticed it missing from his own wardrobe and discovered that Bart was the thief, he’d given his boyfriend shit over it. Sure, Jaime has about twenty other jackets to pick from, and the red one isn’t even his favorite, but he couldn’t pass over the opportunity to mess with the younger teen a little. 

“Red isn’t even your color, Babe,” Bart had said, after Jaime confronted him. “It looks better on me. Plus, you have like, a billion other hoodies to choose from. Let your adorable boyfriend have this one. You look much better in blue.” 

Jaime had had a good laugh over it at the time, and agreed to let Bart keep the jumper in exchange for a kiss. Looking back on it now though, only brings an empty feeling to Jaime’s heart. 

He decides to forgo the hair-dryer both in fear of waking any of the Allens up because it’s really early, and that would be rude, and because he just doesn’t feel like spending the extra time. Jaime’s hair is short enough that it will air-dry in about an hour anyway. 

He travels down the stairs in a daze, and is surprised to see Barry up and making breakfast in the kitchen. Upon hearing him enter, the older speedster turns and offers him a smile. 

“Coffee?”

Jaime nods gratefully and takes the offered mug. 

“Cream is in the fridge, and there’s sugar on the table.” 

“Gracias,” Jaime mumbles, placing his mug down on the table. He grabs the creamer from the fridge and splashes a generous amount into his cup before replacing the bottle. Six spoonfuls of sugar go into the drink before Jaime takes a sip. The sweetness of it makes his teeth hurt. Usually Jaime takes his coffee black, but he knows Bart would have concocted a half-coffee, half-creamer, over-saturated-with-sugar ratio, despite the fact that Iris forbids him from caffeine in all forms. Bart turns into an absolute menace any time he has extra energy to spare, and coffee is chocked full of it. That mistake only had to be made once. Mountain Dew, Monsters, and Red Bull have also made it onto the list of culprits over the years. 

Despite the overly sludgy texture, Jaime downs the whole cup and pours himself another, making it the same way. About halfway through the second mug, Barry sits down in the chair beside him with a plate of scrambled eggs and a cup of orange juice. 

“There’s extra if you want, Jaime,” Barry says, picking up his fork. 

Jaime shakes his head. He doesn’t think he can stomach anything solid right now. He lifts the mug to his lips and cringes as he takes another sip. Barry must notice because he gives Jaime a sympathetic look, gently prying the cup away. Jaime makes a grabby motion for the coffee that’s just been stolen from him, but ultimately stops, embarrassed, when the older speedster continues looking at him with pity in his blue eyes. He knows exactly what Jaime’s doing.

“He’ll be okay,” Barry says. “Don’t destroy yourself over this. We both know Bart wouldn’t want that.”

Tears spring to Jaime’s eyes again, and he looks down at the tablecloth, refusing to meet eyes with the older man. He knows Barry’s right, but he can’t help himself. Bart has an absolute hold on him. Even after only two years of dating, Jaime knows Bart is the one he wants to spend the rest of his life with. He can’t imagine anyone else ever having such a strong influence on him. Jaime’s heart is in the palm of Bart’s hand, and it’s scary how much he loves the speedster, but he knows that he does, and Jaime isn’t afraid to say it outloud. Even if it makes him vulnerable, or weak, as a lot of villains like to put it, Jaime isn’t ashamed of loving Bart. Getting to say that Bart is his boyfriend and that he loves him is perhaps the one thing that brings him the most joy in his life. 

Jaime swipes at his eyes with the heels of his hands. He really needs to get this crying thing under control. He can’t remember ever crying this much in his life. 

Barry gives his arm a comforting squeeze. “Visiting hours start soon. Why don’t you go throw on your shoes, kiddo?” 

Jaime sniffs and wipes his nose on the red sleeve of his jacket before scooting his chair back and standing up. He nods and then makes his way into the entry hall to find his sneakers. They’re still lined up next to Bart’s Vans, and Jaime contemplates wearing Bart’s shoes for a minute before ultimately deciding against it. They would be huge on him. 

Despite Bart having the larger shoe size, Jaime ended up with the taller stature. He isn’t sure whether Bart will have another growth spurt or not, considering he’s eighteen now, but even if he does, it’s unlikely he’ll surpass Jaime. Jaime had topped out at 5’11” at Bart’s current age, and Bart is still an inch and a half behind him at 5’9 ½”. Bart blames it on the malnutrition he faced for the first thirteen years of his life. Jaime’s inclined to agree. It’s likely that Bart would have surpassed him in height if he’d gotten the proper nutrients he needed during those critical years of growth. Bart’s grandfather is over six feet, and Wally had been no slouch either. Bart claims he doesn’t care though. He likes being the shorter one in their relationship, because it means he always gets to be the little spoon when they cuddle. It makes Jaime smile. 

He sits at the bottom of the stairs while he ties his shoes, waiting for Barry to slip on his own and grab his keys from the bowl by the front door. They listen to the six o’clock news on the radio during the drive to the hospital. The anchors are talking about Lex Luthor again. Jaime tries to tune it out. 

It’s 6:57 when they pull into a parking spot in front of the hospital. Seeing the flashing numbers on the dash of Barry’s little white Nisan sends Jaime into a mini panic. He doesn’t think three minutes is enough time to check in and find Bart’s room before visiting hours start. Seven to nine will give him nine hours with his boyfriend. 

He bounces on the balls of his feet, hands shoved into the pocket on the front of his hoodie while he waits for Barry to turn the car off, get out, and lock it. He knows he looks desperate, but he wants to spend every possible minute he can with Bart. It’s unfair that the hospital can put a limit on the time loved ones can visit. Jaime knows that for practicality’s sake, and for the recovery of the patients that it’s necessary, but he’s kidding himself if he claims he won’t fight tooth and nail to stay with Bart as long as he can get away with. Either the nurse or Bart’s grandfather is going to have to pry him from his chair before he’s leaving tonight. 

Jaime walks a few paces ahead of Barry as they cross the parking lot, and holds the door open impatiently as he waits for the older man to catch up. At the nurse’s station, Barry checks them both in, and when he’s given the go ahead, Jaime nearly starts sprinting down the hallway to get to Bart’s room. He had memorized the corridors as Barry’d escorted him out of the hospital last night, and he knows exactly where his boyfriend is being kept. 

Jaime slips into Bart’s room silently, trying to be mindful of his sleep. It only hits him when he sees all of the bags hanging from Bart’s IV stand again that it doesn’t really matter anyway; his doctors have him on such a high dosage of sedatives that Bart wouldn’t wake up if a police siren was going off right next to his head. It’s hard seeing him like this. 

Jaime can feel himself shaking. Last night had been bad, but having to see Bart again, buried under all of this medical equipment, is like a punch to the gut. All of his breath leaves his chest in a single whoosh and Jaime’s left gasping. Barry finally catching up, and the sharp click the door makes when the older man closes it is what snaps him out of it. Jaime shakes his head a little in an attempt to clear it before taking his seat by Bart’s bedside. Barry takes the chair opposite. 

“It’s really hard seeing him like this,” Jaime’s voice comes out gravelly. He takes Bart’s hand and gently runs his thumb over his boyfriend’s pale knuckles. 

Barry nods. “It’s not your fault,” he reassures. “Bart knew the risks.” 

Jaime doesn’t necessarily agree. He doubts Bart was thinking about how badly he would be hurt by his actions. Bart was likely leading with his heart. It’s one of his greatest qualities, and it’s why Jaime loves him so much, but it’s also one of Bart’s most obvious vulnerabilities. Jaime knows that Bart doesn’t trust easily. Coming from the Reach-infested time period he did, Bart is not one to throw trust at any new person he meets. It takes time to get on his good side, but Jaime knows that once you’re there, Bart will sacrifice life and limb for you. Jaime’s seen it over and over again. Bart is loyal to a fault, and dangerously self-sacrificing. 

“I wish it were me instead,” Jaime says, looking up at Barry. His tone is filled with conviction. 

The older Allen shrugs. “I wish he didn’t have to suffer either, but there’s nothing we can do for him by speaking in hypotheticals. We just have to be here to support him in his recovery. You most of all. Bart needs you to stay strong, Jaime. When he wakes up, I don’t doubt that he’ll be struggling. I hate to say it, but I think it’s the reality we’ll be facing. You can’t let yourself be weighed down by guilt. Bart is going to need you.” 

Jaime releases a shaky breath. Barry’s right. He knows Bart is going to have a difficult recovery. Mrs. Jackson’s words still ring clearly in his head. It’s not going to get any easier. He’s just going to have to support Bart through it, and show Bart just how much he means to him. Jaime knows it’s cliché to say it, but he’s hoping that his love for Bart will be enough to heal him. 

He maneuvers himself in his chair so that he can lay his head down on the pillow next to Bart’s without disturbing any of the equipment. The rail of the bed that digs into his ribs is massively uncomfortable, but Jaime’s willing to ignore it if it means he can get closer to Bart. The feeling of his boyfriend’s soft cheek against his own, and the auburn hair tickling at his forehead is enough to keep Jaime grounded. 

At ten o’clock, Barry says that he has to leave for work. Jaime nods in acknowledgment. He’s skipping his college courses today. Learning about the Krebs Cycle is significantly less important than Bart. Barry says that he’ll be back to pick Jaime up after visiting hours end. 

Jaime remains in his contorted position next to Bart until a nurse comes in to check his IVs. It isn’t the same nurse Bart had last night. This one is younger, and nicer looking. 

“You don’t have to move, sweetheart,” she tells Jaime, when he sits back up in his chair. “I’m just checking his IV. You’re not in my way.” She gives him a smile before turning to the IV stand and pressing a few buttons. Jaime watches as she adjusts Bart’s dosages. 

“What is he on?” Jaime asks. He’s shifted back so that he can lay next to Bart again. 

The nurse turns away from the stand and gently picks up Bart’s wrist to examine the four needles going into his hand. She points to the first lead, filled with clear fluid. “This one is saline. It’s just a mixture of water and a little salt. It’ll help to keep him hydrated and keep his electrolytes up,” she explains. She points to the next lead. “This one is morphine.” 

Jaime nods. The nurse knows he doesn’t need a further explanation. 

“This is an antibiotic.” She taps the third tube. “Bart’s immune system is a little weaker than it was before because of his splenectomy. Dr. Roberts will probably prescribe him some antibiotics to take once Bart is able to handle solid foods again. For now though, we’re giving them to him through the IV.” 

“This last one,” the nurse hums, running her fingers along a tube filled with milky fluid, “is the sedative. For now, I have his dose up pretty high. We don’t want him to wake up before his ribs are healed a little bit. If Bart was moving around, it would take his ribs longer to heal, and I know you want him out of here as soon as possible.” She sounds almost sad. Jaime has to admit, the empathy is nice. Bart’s doctor and the other nurse are more stern than understanding. It makes him like this nurse more in comparison. 

She smiles at Jaime before she sets to her next task of checking the bandages around Bart’s chest and the drainage bulbs. Jaime notes that there is more pink fluid in them this morning than there had been last night. He hopes it doesn’t mean anything bad. 

“How long have you been in a relationship?” the nurse asks, nodding her head at Bart. “It must be a long time. I can tell you really love him.” 

Jaime blushes. The way this nurse asks the question is much different from Dr. Roberts. Where his tone had been accusatory and full of suspicion, the nurse’s is all compassion and kindness. 

“Two years,” Jaime sighs. “We were supposed to move in together in two months.” 

The nurse raises an eyebrow. It takes Jaime a moment to realize his mistake. Immediately panic weighs him down like an anchor. Barry had lied for him last night saying that he and Bart were already living together to gain him visiting rights. Jaime just blew it. 

Apparently the nurse must see his distress because she raises a finger to her lips and gives him a wink. “Don’t worry, hun. I’ll keep your secret. I’m not going to kick you out over a silly rule. He needs you here right now.” 

“Thank you,” Jaime tells her. “I had to see him, and I didn’t know what else to say.” 

The nurse waves him off. “I know, hun. I don’t blame you. If that were my boyfriend, I would have lied too. Just don’t tell anyone else.” She gives him another wink.

Jaime lets out a little chuckle. He has to admit, it feels good. After so much crying, he really needs it. 

“I don’t think I got your name,” the nurse comments, moving around to the other side of the bed, where Jaime is laying. He knows he needs to move now so that she can change Bart’s bandages on this side, too. 

“Jaime.” He moves the chair out of the way so that the nurse can do her job. 

“Jaime and Bart,” she hums. “Bart and Jaime. It has a nice ring to it.”

Jaime blushes. Hearing it from someone else’s mouth is strange. He recognizes that the nurse is supporting them. Rather than pretending to be oblivious to the fact that both of them are boys, and are in a relationship together, or being outrightly homophobic and trying to shame them for loving one another, she’s encouraging them. It makes Jaime feel light, and he knows Bart would be overwhelmed as well. It’s rare enough that people tolerate their relationship and accept their feelings for one another as valid. It’s even rarer that they get praised or congratulated for expressing their love. The sentiments leave Jaime feeling happy. 

“My official title is Nurse Burns, but you can call me Jessica.” She gives Jaime another smile once she finishes placing the last strip of gauze. She walks over to the counter by the door to Bart’s room and grabs up his chart, scribbling a few quick lines before saying, “Everything looks good. I’m going to do my best to help Bart get out of here as soon as I can. I’ll be in to check on him each morning. Nurse Reynolds has the night shift. It’s possible you may have run into her last night when Bart was admitted.” 

Jaime nods. So that’s her name. He wishes that Jessica could be Bart’s nurse all day, but he understands that it’s unfair to expect that from her. She probably has loved ones she needs to return home to after her shift at the hospital. He’s just grateful that his boyfriend has at least one nurse watching out for him, even if it is only a few hours every morning.

“If you need anything at all, Jaime, don’t be afraid to ask me, okay? I might be  _ Bart’s _ nurse, but I’ve got to make sure his boyfriend stays strong, too. When he does get out of here, he’s going to need you to take care of him and help him through the rest of his recovery.” 

Jaime offers her a small smile. “Thank you,” he says to her. Jessica waves as she takes Bart’s chart and exits the room. 

By the time noon rolls around, Jaime’s starving, but he doesn’t want to leave Bart’s side. He’s had to shift a few times, due to the uncomfortable strain the rail of Bart’s bed has put on his ribs and side, but he hasn’t let go of Bart’s hand once for the full time he’s been here. He wishes he could just crawl into the bed with his boyfriend and wrap him up in his arms, but Jaime knows he can’t do that with all of Bart’s tubes and wires taking up the space. 

Jaime leans over to place a kiss on the younger teen’s temple. “I know you probably can’t hear me,” Jaime says, “what with the amount of drugs your doctor has you on, but if there is the possibility you can hear me, I want you to know that I love you, Bart. You mean everything to me, and I want you to get better. Dios mio, you have no idea how worried I am about you right now. Your doctor said that your brain is bleeding, Cariño. Do you know how scary that is? I’ll never forgive myself if something happens to you. I still can’t believe you took that hit for me. Fue muy estúpido. You weren’t breathing when the EMTs came to get you and bring you here. I was so scared you were gone. I can’t live without you, Cariño. I know I can’t. So you have to get better. Para mi.” 

Jaime rests his head down against the edge of the mattress by Bart’s feet where there is no bed rail and closes his eyes. He isn’t sure whether a nap is a good idea, but he had barely slept at all last night and knowing that Bart is right here beside him, despite his condition, is a comfort. 

When Jaime wakes up again, Barry is back and sitting by Bart’s bed on the opposite side. Immediately Jaime sits up and rubs the sleep out of his eyes. “What time is it?” he mumbles.

“Hey, Jaime,” Barry greets him. “It’s around six thirty. Have you eaten anything today?” 

Jaime shakes his head no, which prompts a frown from Bart’s grandfather. “Jaime, it’s important for you to eat. Here’s some money.” He hands Jaime a crisp twenty-dollar bill. “Go down to the cafeteria and get yourself some food.”

Jaime blinks down at the bill and then tries to protest, shoving it back at Barry. “I can’t-”

Barry pushes it firmly into his hand. “Your parents have fed Bart on countless occasions, which I know is not cheap. The least I can do is return the favor.” He gives Jaime a smile. “Bart will still be here when you come back.” 

Jaime casts his eyes back to Bart’s sleeping figure. He hasn’t moved an inch all day. Reluctantly, Jaime stands up from his chair, tucking the money into the pocket of his hoodie. He gives Bart’s hand a tight squeeze and then places a kiss on the speedster’s palm before letting go. Tucking his hands into the pocket on the jumper, Jaime shuffles his way to the door of Bart’s room. Before opening it, he looks back again. Barry is holding Bart’s hand, looking at his grandson worriedly. Jaime figures it’s probably fair to give him some alone time with Bart, even if it is only twenty minutes or so. 

Jaime has to use the signs hanging from the ceiling in the hallways to find his way, but he eventually makes it to the cafeteria. Inside, an assortment of visitors, doctors and nurses are either standing in line or sitting down at the tables scattered about, trying to choke down their bland hospital food. After looking at the menu for a little, Jaime gets in line. He ends up ordering grilled chicken, white rice and a bottle of water. 

Jaime sighs as he plops down at one of the unoccupied tables and picks up his fork. Because Bart is still in the CCU, he can’t bring the food back with him. He’ll have to eat it all in the cafeteria before he can go back up to Bart’s room. He picks at the chicken idly. He figures it would probably be a good idea to call his mother. They haven’t spoken in a few days. 

Bianca picks up on the second ring. 

“Hola, mijo,” she greets. “¿Como estas? It’s been a few days since I’ve heard from you.” 

Jaime presses his phone against his ear and shoulder blade, holding it in place as he takes a bite of chicken. “Hey, Ma. Sorry it’s been awhile. Bart got hurt last night. He’s in the hospital.” 

“Oh, Jaime,” Bianca cooes sympathetically, “What happened? Will he be okay?” 

Jaime swallows and sets down his fork. “The doctor said that he has eight broken ribs and six fractures. He had a double pneumothorax. He’s on a ventilator. His brain is also bleeding. He got hit pretty hard.” Jaime can’t manage more than short sentences. It’s difficult to talk about. All Jaime wants to do is be there for his boyfriend, but Barry isn’t letting him be upset in the ways he most wants to. 

“I’m sorry, honey,” his mother tries to be comforting. “Is he in intensive care? How long did his doctor say he would need to recover?”

Jaime pushes the rice and bits of chicken around his plate. He really isn’t all that hungry anymore, but he’ll feel bad if he wastes Barry’s money. “He’s in the CCU,” Jaime says. “Bart’s doctor said that he’ll need a couple of months. Depends on when he can get off of the ventilator.” Jaime looks around the cafeteria to make sure no one is within hearing range, and then lowers his voice to a whisper, just for good measure. “They put an inhibitor bracelet on him to slow down his metabolism. Barry says it’s supposed to help him heal better.” 

Bianca is silent on the other end of the line for a moment. Jaime uses the time to take another bite of his food while his mother gathers her thoughts. Eventually she says, “Is Bart’s grandfather at the hospital with you?” 

Jaime nods, then realizes his mother can’t see him. “Si. I slept at the Allens’ house last night. Bart’s in Smallville Med Center. It was the closest hospital.” 

Bianca clicks her tongue. “You’ve been going back and forth between Central City and Smallville? Jaime, they’re a state away from each other. You must be exhausted. Mi pobre chico. Do you want your father or I to come visit? We can help Bart’s grandparents with the twins if they want to see him. Iris, that poor woman. I’m guessing she hasn’t been to see him yet.” 

Jaime looks down at the table top. He hasn’t really considered that. Iris probably does want to see Bart, but with the two visitor rule and the twins to worry about, she hasn’t gotten the opportunity. She’s allowed Jaime and Barry the spots these past two days. 

Jaime feels bad about it, but he knows he can’t give up his spot, as selfish as it is. He  _ needs _ to be there for Bart, not only for Bart’s sake, but his own as well. Jaime can’t live with himself knowing that something bad can happen to Bart and he isn’t there to help him through it. 

“He’s only allowed two visitors right now,” Jaime says. He doesn’t want to inconvenience his parents, and he knows that a plane ticket from Texas to Missouri is expensive. He and Barry can take zeta tubes, but his parents will have to travel the civilian way. Plus, once they get to Central, they will have to rent a hotel room, which will cost even more money, or stay with Barry, Iris and the twins, putting more stress on the Allens. Jaime already knows he’s lucky they have allowed him to stay with them. Granting his parents the same hospitality would be over the top. 

“Yo sé, mijo,” Bianca says, “You remember I am a nurse?” Jaime can hear the smirk in her voice. It’s the same snark both he and his little sister have inherited. Jaime knows Bart always gets annoyed with him whenever he’s in a particularly playful mood, because while Jaime finds fun in making little jabs at things, Bart goes for more of a lighthearted, joking type of humor. He pouts when Jaime uses sarcasm or teases, and in return, Jaime rolls his eyes at all of his boyfriend’s corny jokes. Alone, their senses of humor don’t mesh well, but once they’ve been going at each other for a few minutes, he and Bart can usually find a happy medium which results in them laughing at one another, and them ending up on the floor together, or on one of their beds side by side (depending on where they are at the time), chests heaving with the remnants of giggles, and staring into one another’s eyes gleefully. 

“We would just be coming to help with the twins,” Jaime’s mother carries on. “If it were you in the hospital, mijo, I know your father and I would want the help. It’s not easy having a sick or injured child, and still having to maintain other responsibilities on top of it. I’ll make a call to Bart’s grandmother and ask her if she’d like any extra help.”

Jaime lets out a resigned sigh. “Okay, Ma. Gracias. Te amo.” 

“I love you too, mijo. And take care of yourself. I’ll know if you haven’t been sleeping and eating right. I understand you’re feeling bad about Bart, pero… soy tú mamá. I worry.” 

Jaime feels a small smile slip onto his face. “Barry’s making sure I’m staying healthy. He made me come down to the cafeteria to eat. It’s too bad all of the food here is so bland. Your cooking’s a lot better.” Jaime tries for a joke. 

His mother laughs. “I’ll try to bring some tupperware then, if Iris wants us to make the trip. When Bart gets better, maybe I can make him a little something too.” 

Jaime returns the laugh. “I know he’ll appreciate it. He always asks me when he can come over for family dinners because he loves your cooking so much.” 

“Tell him he’s welcome whenever he wants. Two years is a long time to be together, Jaime. Bart’s part of the family now, whether he wants it or not.” 

Chuckles continue to escape Jaime’s throat. “I’ll be sure to let him know. He’ll be ecstatic to hear your famous enchiladas are now just a phone call away.” 

Jaime can hear the warmth and care in his mother’s voice. “Of course, mijo. I hope he gets better soon. I’ll make the call to Iris. Maybe I’ll be seeing you soon. Te amo, Jaime.”

“Te amo, tambien. Bye, Ma.” Jaime hangs up the phone and sets it down on the table beside his plate. He stirs the chicken and rice with his fork, and then decides against another bite. His appetite is gone and the food is cold now, anyway. Plus, he wants to get back to his boyfriend. He’ll find a way to make up the wasted money to Barry later. Jaime picks up the tray and dumps it in the trash. 

The walk back to Bart’s room is brisk. Along the way, Khaji Da berates him for not finishing the food, but Jaime shuts the scarab up quick by agreeing to let him hold Bart’s hand for a little while. Over the years, Khaji Da has come to develop a sort of fond acceptance of Jaime’s boyfriend, and even though the bug won’t admit it, Jaime knows Bart is his favorite person, perhaps even ahead of himself. Khaji freaks out as much about Bart as he does about Jaime when either of them are in danger or get hurt. Within the last year especially, Jaime can’t count the number of times Khaji has pulled out the plasma cannon and made death threats against anyone he’s perceived as putting Bart at risk for injury. All in all, Jaime finds it kind of cute.

He sits down in his chair across from Barry, who looks up blearily upon his arrival. Jaime gets the impression that he may have been falling asleep. He checks his phone. Seven o’two. There’s one hour and fifty eight minutes remaining of visiting time. 

Jaime leans over to kiss Bart’s temple, and then sits back in his chair, allowing Khaji Da some control. Now that he and the scarab have a bit more of an understanding (the Reach invasion and getting put on and taken off of mode had strengthened their partnership considerably), Jaime is more comfortable with allowing Khaji Da use of the body they both have to share. Five years of partnership has given Khaji Da enough experience to realize that violence isn’t necessarily the answer to everything when dealing with other people, and Jaime’s proud to say that Khaji’s even developed his own set of emotions, and that they can both simultaneously feel and think different things. The scarab’s come a long way from the murderous parasite he was the night Jaime picked him up in the Kord Industries parking lot. 

When the scarab takes control, he’s always careful not to overstep. A gentle push at Jaime’s consciousness is all it takes. If Jaime wants control again, all he has to do is tell Khaji Da and the scarab backs off. They’ve come to the understanding that yes, while they share Jaime’s body now, it was originally Jaime’s to begin with, so he has rights to the primary control of it. Over time, Khaji Da has learned that all he has to do is ask Jaime whenever he wants to use their body, and usually his host is willing to fulfill the request. 

Jaime’s consciousness mixes with Khaji Da’s to give them both a type of semi-control over their body. Either of them can move Jaime’s hands, or arms, or legs, and it’s with a collective effort that they reach out to twine Bart’s fingers between their own. Khaji Da gives Bart’s hand a squeeze as Jaime gently runs their thumb over the backs of Bart’s knuckles. When they briefly glance up, Barry’s giving them a strange look. 

Jaime feels Khaji Da immediately recede back from their shared consciousness. The scarab, despite his protective and sometimes violent nature, is extremely people-shy. The only person he’s actually comfortable interacting with on a regular basis is Bart. Khaji Da has asked for control to interact with Jaime’s family before, but Milagro always proves to be too much, and Khaji Da has mixed feelings about Bianca and Alberto. He usually lets Jaime handle all of the people-people interactions and talking. 

“Scarab wanted to hold Bart’s hand,” Jaime explains. He knows that’s what must have caused the strange look. Bart had told him once that his eyes change whenever he lets Khaji Da take control. The speedster says that’s what allows him to tell them apart. 

Barry wrinkles his brow. “The scarab wants to hold Bart’s hand?” He sounds confused and shocked all at once.

Jaime nods. “Khaji’s people-shy, but he likes Bart. He’s upset, too.” And it’s true. Jaime can feel the same negative emotions he’s experiencing coming from Khaji Da, too. 

Barry’s brow just wrinkles further in response. “I guess I didn’t realize the scarab was that complex.” 

Jaime nods a little. He can feel himself blushing, and the embarrassment is reflected back at him, meaning that Khaji Da is feeling the same way. “Think of us as two different people,” Jaime says, in an attempt to explain, “sharing the same body.” 

Bart’s grandfather nods thoughtfully. “So, the scarab has its own consciousness?” 

Jaime nods again. “Khaji Da,” he says. “That’s scarab’s name. He has his own thoughts, feelings and emotions, just like I do.” Jaime grabs for Bart’s hand, lacing their fingers together. Tentatively, Khaji Da follows, a tentacle-like extension slipping from the end of Jaime’s jacket sleeve to wrap around Bart’s hand as well. Barry eyes it curiously.

“Khaji Da likes Bart, too?” he asks, and there’s something in his tone that sounds off. 

It takes Jaime a second to get it, but when he does, his face breaks out tomato red. “Khaji isn’t sexual,” Jaime quickly clarifies. He really wishes he wasn’t having this conversation with Bart’s grandfather of all people. “He likes Bart, but not in that type of way. Khaji Da just cares about him, and wants to make sure he’ll be okay.” Jaime averts his eyes from the older man’s. He really,  _ really _ does not want to be having this conversation. 

Luckily, Barry leans back in his chair, seemingly satisfied with his interrogation and doesn’t ask any more questions. Mentally Jaime sighs in relief. That was really more detail than he had wanted to give. While Jaime and Khaji Da have come to a clear cut understanding of one another, it’s very difficult trying to explain their symbiotic relationship to someone else. 

For the rest of visiting time, they all sit in silence, Jaime and Khaji continuing to hold Bart’s hand, and Barry across from them on his phone, likely sending updates to Iris. Jaime idly wonders if his mother has called yet. If so, he hopes she wasn’t too overbearing. Mamá Reyes can be a little much when she goes into protective mode and Jaime doesn’t want to be responsible for adding any extra worries to Iris’ plate. 

When nine o’clock hits, the shift nurse, Reynolds, Jessica had said her name was, taps on the window to Bart’s room to let them know they have to leave. Almost immediately, Khaji Da tightens his hold on Bart’s hand. Jaime doesn’t want to leave either. Knowing he has to leave Bart alone again hurts just as much as it did last night. 

Barry smiles at him sadly, slipping his phone into his pocket. The older speedster stands up and turns to gesture at the shift nurse, letting her know that he and Jaime will be out of Bart’s room in a few minutes. 

Jaime leans over to rest his head on the pillow next to Bart’s, nuzzling gently against his boyfriend’s cheek. It isn’t fair that Bart has to be here suffering alone. Jaime wants to be with him, now more than ever. Having to leave him again is impossible. 

Barry notes his reluctance and walks over to the side of the bed to rest a hand on Jaime’s shoulder. “Come on, kiddo. I know it’s hard, but we won’t be allowed to keep visiting if we break the hospital rules.” 

Jaime feels tears well up in his eyes. He can’t leave Bart right now. “No quiero dejarle solo,” escapes his mouth in a whimper. He knows Barry can’t understand the meaning of the words, but the older man seems to understand the implication. 

“We’ll come back again in the morning like we did today,” Barry says, trying to soothe him. 

Jaime presses a kiss to Bart’s temple, and then another lingering kiss as close to Bart’s mouth as he can get without disturbing the tubes. Khaji Da gives a squeeze to Bart’s hand before both of them withdraw from the bedside. Jaime has to drag his feet to make it to the door, the weight of his broken heart almost too much to carry. 

Barry gently guides him out of the hospital room. When they get back to the Allens’ house that night, Jaime falls into Bart’s bed sobbing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave me comments?

**Author's Note:**

> I'm hoping to have the second part of this up soon.


End file.
